


Common Ground

by thejeeperswife



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coffee, Commonality, F/M, Friendship, Headaches, Headaches & Migraines, Health, Injury Recovery, Lyrium Addiction, Medical Trauma, Pain, Recovery, Understanding, dragon age modern au, vanilla ice cream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 08:12:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15384486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejeeperswife/pseuds/thejeeperswife
Summary: A different take of Evie Trevelyan and Cullen Rutherford's meeting and friendship originally set in"Handle With Care".  Here, Evie is not a healthy singing and playing dancer, but forever maimed by red lyrium.  Can a shared understanding of medical pain and similar social experiences bring two strangers together?One-Shot Song:  "All You Wanted" by Michelle Branch (Found on "Handle With Care" Playlist on Spotify.)





	Common Ground

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Handle With Care](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13059732) by [thejeeperswife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejeeperswife/pseuds/thejeeperswife). 



> Originally posted on Tumblr as a Fifty-Followers Thank You. Follow me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thejeeperswife) for more one-shots and fun!

Why was he sitting there?

Why did he agree to this?

Cullen ran his shaky fingers through his managed blond hair, noting the few smaller curls that always rebelled around his ears and along his neck.  His usual nervous habit, the man rubbed his stiff neck right afterwards.  There was no use.  Each time he massaged the tension, it never yielded, always tightening as soon as his hand fell to his shoulder.  His body constantly waited for the random strikes of pain that occurred without warning so the rigidity remained, preparing.  The attacks caught him off guard, sent him flashing forward, searching for something to steady his quivering stance.  Once it sent him right into a wall in front of the organization’s public relation’s officer, Josephine Montilyet.

Maker, the ex-soldier especially hates those moments.  People’s surprise, their touch or attempted sincerity to help him seat down, how they keeping asking him if he needs anything or what caused the attack.   These headaches came and went like the breeze, only leaving the former knight in icy pain and caught weak in front of his coworkers or siblings.  The embarrassment and shame overcame his senses and mind afterwards, seeing people’s disappointments, gingerly manners, and unconscious shunning.  Cullen unwillingly does not share the causes, his personal burden that no one else should know.

Yet, why was the ex-templar sitting in a coffee shop waiting for something ‘like’ him?

 _"Cullen, you need someone to talk to._ She _is perfect and quite understanding.  You both share the same pains, wishing for similar outcomes!”_

Damn Rian for his silver and persuasive tongue.  He was not his boss and best friend because of his striking features.  (Although, Cassandra might stare and agree with Rian for those specific characteristics.)  He worked hard and proved to the world he could do anything, including overcoming his lyrium addiction.  Both ex-templars decided to break the habit together, believing having each other’s support will let them beat the piling odds.

Yet, Rian Trevelyan conquered his lyrium addiction easily, especially compared with Cullen’s slow and agonizing recovery.  His noble family understood his struggles, assisting in any way he required.   They knew what triggered flashbacks or made symptoms worse.  Rian’s adopted mother, well technically his aunt, accepted Cullen as one of her children and gave the weak man a place to go when it became unbearable.  The man avoided accepting Lady Gwen’s offers, knowing she still battled Stage Four Breast Cancer and was slowly losing the battle.

Cullen knew he could not have Rian and his family support both men.  The former Kirkwall knight-commander was truly alone.  His family knew little about happened while he served the Templar Order.  He kept them in the dark, sparing them the disgrace of what the eldest son committed in the Circles.  Cullen believed the Chantry’s lies about ‘mages,’ people genetically tolerate of lyrium, never experiencing what the former knight battled every waking moment.  Children forced to academies and separated from the general population just because they could consume a substance that can make them powerful and resilient.

The ex-templar drank that same substance, the steroid that made Templars physiologically agile and strong.   That was how the Chantry fought those ‘unwanted people,’ subjugating young men and women to addiction and a permanent leash to remain loyal or die begging for another dose.  The longer a person took lyrium, the more they lost their minds; blocks of memory gone as the brain’s deterioration brought insanity and finally death.  Cullen wanted his soul back and stopped taking the steroid to regain the reigns of his own life, to truly live again.

Maybe that was why the man sat in the back corner of Haven’s local coffee shop, The Blue Nug.  He nursed his cup of lavender tea, thankful for its mixture of herbs, spice, and unique scent to keep those striking pains at bay.  He chose the corner, away from the windows because the midday sun reflected off the fresh white snow in the parking lot.  The winter weather hung onto the bare tree limbs, their leaves gone and decomposed with only a few stragglers hanging for dear life.

Cullen smirked a little, thankful his withdrawal gave him a moment of clearer thoughts and only aching muscles.  Winter looked dead.  Everything look dreary and naked, stripped bare by the shifting orbit and the planet’s axis.  Yet, after a fresh snow, everything looked majestic like in slumber waiting for the seasons to change again.  He hated walking in fresh snow, because his footprints broke the scene, the serenity that the crisp air and dripping ice icicles displayed to remind him that the Maker still existed.  Maker, Cullen wished he could handle the refracting sunlight just to walk the hiking trails around the hamlet and just _observe_ the world, be whisked away from the pain he felt constantly since his last draught over six years ago.

The daydream shattered and brought the ex-templar back to the present when the coffee shop’s front glass door rang.  A small hanging bell hung off the upper hinges, alerting the attendants that a new customer arrived.  Years of military training controlled Cullen as his amber hues stared at the newcomer.  His ears focused on the person’s breath, while his nostrils flared searching for the hints of recent cordite, that sweet yet sulphur-oil scent from a discharged firearm.  Pavlov’s Dog instincts engrained since basic training still governed his reactions regarding entrances.  Maker, damn his Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).  Thrask’s body flying through the shut metal door after a grenade rolled into the adjacent hallway-

Please, not here, not now!

Count back from ten and breath deep breaths!

Ten…nine…

 

* * *

 

Evie wanted to murder her brother.

How did he talk her into this?!

Oh yeah, because Rian never asks for anything and extremely overprotective.  He kept bringing up how she complained about the aches and wanting to rip out her eyeballs every time the headaches started.  He pointed out her inability to look at her cellphone when light tortured her.  He stated she needed to speak with someone— _anyone_ —instead of lying in bed and crying all night when Evie could not fall asleep.  If Evie refused to go to group therapy or join an online forum, at least Rian’s best friend would understand her daily trials.

The woman highly doubted it.

Evie’s body hated itself.  When she was young, the young girl stated she could suffer from anything physical ailments just as long as it was not nerve related.  The Maker rang ‘challenged accepted’ and proceeded her down this agonizing road.  She could handle being a ‘mage’, someone who could consume lyrium that boasted her mind, body, and soul.  She really did not mind the education, as censored and distorted as it was.  Evie really hated Chantry-laced bullshit to cover up the institution’s abuses against other races and people.  Evie willing traveled and studied at the Circles when her father had offered to buy off the Chantry.  Rian was in charge of security at her academy and allowed nothing horrible to happen to her.

That lyrium tolerance was the only reason why she still lived.  If she was allergic and easily poisoned like the general population, the accident would have killed her outright.  No, instead it left a lasting anguish that she will experience for the rest of her life.  The things a scholar willingly endured for research and science…

Yet, the red lyrium poisoning did not begin this journey of torture.  In hindsight, it appeared over ten years ago.  She played the violin in Ostwick’s Circle ensemble.  By her senior year, it was not uncommon for her to race outside into the Vimmark Mountains and dunk her swollen red hands into a snow drift.  The other students never batted an eye while hearing the musician scream in agony.  Her playing broke five bows during practice, dropping them when her hand lost feeling or her fingers swelled too much.  Her dreams of being a violinist dashed by weakening fine motors skills.

These illnesses harkened back even earlier.  Gymnastic and dance disappeared from her life when she was just thirteen.  Her ankles would randomly bend, nearly breaking her leg and foot bones.  Her knees swelled and burned after practices.  Her back never fully straightened, now so bowed that she cannot sit right in a seat.  Those intense sports became a horrible burden instead of a healthy stress reliever.  She stopped attending classes once her Circle education became stricter.  Another life goal lost to what people believed as ‘clumsiness’ and a strange unsettled equilibrium.

After Kirkwall and a red lyrium shard striking through the researcher’s left shoulder, the true causes shined through, breaking the woman down and placing bigger gapes from her reaching her life goals.  She was just two classes away from starting her dissertation.   Her Grade Point Average (GPA) dropped so low the university threatened to kick her out of her geology program.  She just could not complete the semesters, dropping courses within two months after starting the semester.  She left her job as an geological assistant within the Circle’s research division.  All of Evie’s future career gone because of this pain, the agony.

The Trevelyan family were rich and powerful, but Evie declared she would handle her mounding medical bills.  Without a steady paycheck, hospital and physician bills buried her.  Some asshole people like her sister Patricia stated she looked fine, so she should go back to work.  The bitch did not understand that her alarm clock could send her into a seizure or the burning pain in her hands and feet meant she could not even sign her name on documents.  Her symptoms varied each day.  The shift in temperature and weather may bring her to her knees.  Evie wished to continue her life, but these illnesses broke her way of life, her dreams.

No doctor could define the cause in the beginning, before the poisoning.  Five neurologists who just said she was depressed.  She heard ‘it’s all in her head’ too many times, nearly punching a physician once afterwards.  So many times Evie broke down in her jeep, second guessing if she was making everything up. 

The red lyrium emergency saved her life really.  It forced medical professionals to think outside of the box.  There was no medical knowledge on the effects of red lyrium.  That was one reason why Evie was in Kirkwall, cleaning up the Gallows before she quit her job.  She was the most qualified geologist who had a natural tolerance to lyrium.  Her relief efforts and the participating templars probably saved thousands of lives.  She just did not move fast enough, the spike embedding into her shoulder blade crawling out of a crumbling building.

The side effects did not appear until a few weeks later.  The fever pushed her to the emergency room.  She never experienced fevers and vomiting.  She contributed the back pain and shakiness to the healing wound and the mysterious illness that all doctors stated were psychological.   She kept calling her brother Esme, telling him where she was in Starkhaven, what stage of triage she attended within the hospital.

The medical staff explained the woman nearly died.  The Blight virus within the red lyrium caused an immune response, nearly frying her brain.  Weeks of time lost because of the fevers and the pain.  Throughout those weeks hospitalized, the staff witnessed the strange seizures and the burning extremities. 

A few unique doctors provided names for Evie’s ailments.  Sadly, the same genetic mutation that allowed her to withstand the lyrium poisoning also caused other mutations.  The rare genetic disorders contained within her DNA had little to no research or analysis.  There was no cure.  Existing drugs provided minimal ways to treat the symptoms.  They stated it will only get worse until she was disabled and died young.  She knew what laid before her.  What they described was like lyrium exposure for the general population.  Her grandfather died from insanity caused by lyrium.  A mage will die like a templar.  Evie’s altered genetic code determined which paths she may take.  The red lyrium poisoning solidified which path and how long she had until the very end.  The next thirty years will be painful and rot with suffering.

That was why Evie was in Haven.  Her mother’s breast cancer came back.  Her father could not take care of two sick people, especially one that looked healthy on the outside.  Ian Trevelyan could only filtered so many comments and questions.  Evie’s mother, Gwen, never talked about her health and illness.  She did not want anyone knowing, especially her enemies.  Evie’s father kept her secret, but it wore on him.  The potential person who might understand Evie’s understanding did not want to speak about her own.

Esme and Rian could keep an eye on Evie here in Haven.  Rian set her up in a loft by the wharf, so she could watch the ships enter and exit Haven like in Ostwick.  The scenery was beautiful.  The Frostbacks were taller than the Vimmark Mountains, but it housed a religious temple that Evie may visit when she felt she needed some spiritual guidance.  The mountain air and more constant weather allowed her to feel the same for more than a week.  This past winter storm almost killed her with the high pressure grinded against her joints and head. 

However, Evie still felt alone in her struggle.  She—or rather someone else—drove hours to the nearest specialist to manage her medications each month.  The woman missed driving and mudding up her Jeep CJ7.   The seizures cause her to lose consciousness often, potentially leading to an accident or worse.  It was safer to be a passenger.  She did not want to hurt another.  Her built up jeep sat in her driveway, rusting as the salted side roads ate at the paint.

Rian gave her an ultimatum:  talk to his best friend or go to group therapy.  Evie trusted no one, especially after what people said to her face or behind her back.  Meanwhile, doctors dismissed her, unwilling to admit when they did not know what do.  The woman hated the idea of sitting in a circle with other people who never heard of Evie’s ailments, probably saying the names was elvhen or made up.  So, she chose Rian’s friend, someone her mutual friend Dorian knew well.  Esme did not care for the guy, but this dealt with Evie talking to a single man in a coffee shop.  Any man who looked at her twice will get hacked and threated by her tech-savvy brother.

Evie’s heart nearly busted out of her chest once she entered Haven coffee shop.  Adelheid dropped her off, late for work at their brother’s organization, the Inquisition.  Addy was another adopted child in the Trevelyan family.  The Dalish elf kept to herself usually but always stated her mind bluntly.  Even she could not complain _too_ much about Rian’s mysterious commander.

The woman nearly cancelled the meeting.  When she woke earlier, she felt it would be a terrible day.  She ran out of vanilla ice cream the night before, her only comfort food when the headaches start.  Evie took all her meds and supplements, twenty in total.  The latest pain medicine busted blood vessels.  She bruised just glancing at something.  Blackwall, Rian’s Grey Warden police officer friend, asked if she was a victim of domestic violence when he noticed the welts at the bar last week.  Evie needed someone in her life first.  Who would date a woman so broken and defeated?

That morning, Evie forced herself into the bathroom instead of lying in bed all day.  She showered, hoping a good hot soak would break the growing aches rolling up her nerves.  Her lower back and horsetail nerves jumped into overdrive.  Ever since her vertebrate crushed the nerves to her pelvis, she had weeks where she felt everything or nothing.  It no longer bothered her, becoming used to the striking shifts.  After her bath, she decided to straighten her short hair.  She missed her long waves and curls that highlighted her auburn color.  Now, each strain burned along her scalp.  She donated her long locks for wigs when she chopped it off two years ago.  Thank goodness she looked good with a bob or pixie cut.  Anything that kept her from wanting to rip out her hair, the better.

The woman declared she will wear jeans despite knowing by the time she gets home her skin will be covered in welts and scratches.  She lived in yoga pants with their soft seams and little stretchy tightness around her aching legs.  Patricia stated she always looked like a slob.  Maker, Evie missed being able to wear anything, including scrappy high heels.  Now, she lived in ballerina slippers, flip flops, and boots.

Concealer never covered the blue-purple bangs under her eyes.  That was the only physical symptom people saw in her struggle.  The red lyrium dyed her eyes bright green, beautiful really in its own horrific way.  Yet, nights without sleep and the constant rolling and burning left blood slot, sunken eyes.  Esme got so good determining if it was a good or bad day by just studying her eyes.  Her cheeks were sunken in too, natural contouring along her high cheekbones.  She missed complaining about her freckles ‘blemishing’ her face.  Now, they were barely noticeable along her ashen pale skin.

As Evie straightened herself in the coffee shop’s entrance, she told her body and mind to give her two hours.  If the extreme pain could wait two hours until she was back at home in bed with her laptop, she will allow it keep her up for days and ignite her skin, blood vessels, and bones until the woman hollered and cried.  She panted her purse, feeling her emergency medicine bottles if she needed them.  Her medical bracelet jingled against her wrist, containing the digital information about her diseases and contact information.  All Evie needed was to have a seizure while meeting this mystery man…

 

* * *

 

...Two…One.

Cullen’s amber eyes opened and took in his surroundings.  He was at a table, holding a mug of tea.  He sat in The Blue Nug, a local coffee shop in Haven.  Today was Saturday, and he did not need to be at work.  He was Commander Cullen Rutherford, head of security and military personnel for the Inquisition, _not_ a knight-commander templar in Kirkwall.  Rian Trevelyan was the Inquisitor and his best friend.  He was waiting for someone that Rian stated might understand his withdrawal.

The anxiety receded from the man’s vision and heart.  Those moments fighting his mind occurred over six years ago.  In such times, a draught of lyrium would numb the panic and pain.  Now, the blue vial was poisoning and his worst enemy.  What would this woman know about lyrium and the Templar Order?

The new customer stood with a gnawed hiking stick that reached her waist.  Her knuckles whitened as she leaned against the cane.  She was young, especially for someone who used a walking device.  She probably broke a leg and slowly regained her ability to walk unassisted.  Her other hand grasped her large purse that hung off her left shoulder.  Against, her knuckles whitened as she slowly studied everyone inside the coffee shop.  He noted her stance wobbled the longer she remained standing.

Once the customer’s face turned towards him, Cullen could truly review her beauty.  The winter snow reflected sunlight into her straight short hair that tickled her red ears.  Water dripped from the ends, probably from melting snow, causing it to curl and frizz.  She kept batting the curls and tickling away, more scratching than tossing her hair aside.  A pair of thick sunglasses sat on top of her head, brushing her bangs out of her face.  Strong cat eye eyeliner rimmed her bright green eyes.  That has to be contacts.  They looked so unnatural, but absolutely gorgeous with their swirls and flacks of different hues.  She kept biting her lower lip every time she took a deep breath.  Nervous?  Worried?

A wool black peacoat blocked out cold, but she kept it unbuttoned, meaning she just came from a warm environment.  A large puffy white and navy blue scarf hung around her neck, matching the navy blue unbuttoned sweater she wore over a white thick tank top and dark jeans.  A pair of brown leather knee high boots with no heel and silverite dangling earrings finished the whole ensemble.  Cullen found it quite comfortable and stylish, something he could see Rosalie wearing. 

How her bright green eyes kept locked on Cullen’s gaze told the former knight this was the person was waiting for.  How in the Maker could this woman be like Cullen?  She seem healthy and carefree, but Rian told him that was what everyone thought when they gazed at his sister.

Here goes nothing.

Cullen stood from his spot in the corner and nodded.  “Evelyn?”

The new customer faintly smiled, breaking her gaze while her cheeks flushed.  “Y-yes?  Cullen, right?”

“Yes, please have a seat.”  Cullen offered to the wooden chair on the other side of the table.  The woman winced, noting the chair.  She took a deep breath and started to walk towards his seat.

Now, the cane made sense.  Each step caused her to wince.  No matter how this person hid the pain, it showed in her eyes and along her plump pink lips.  Cullen had seen templars and other soldiers following legs wounds that never healed right make attempts to conceal the agony. This women could not deceive.  Each click as her wooden cane connected to the hardwood floor a flood of pain rushed to her face and head.

Once the woman reached his position, she paused, biting her lip again before staring at the table.  “D-do you mind if I sit beside you…on the patted bench?  I-I might not make it sitting in the hard chair.”

Cullen chose a corner booth meant for a four people, two sitting on patted bench connected at the corner and two separate wooden chairs.  The place allowed him to review the whole restaurant, avoiding being surprised or a trigger setting off his PTSD.  Yet, Cullen did not know how he might do with a stranger sitting right beside him.  He could exit easily, but made him extremely uncomfortable.  His cheeks immediately blushed and his heart race.  “U-uh…sure?”

Her relieving smile crossed her face as her bright green eyes shimmered up at him.  “T-thanks…hard surfaces…hurt.”

This was medically related, not because she wanted to sit closer to him or some other nonsense.  A bit of disappointment welled in Cullen’s chest.  He internally slapped himself.  This was not a date or something.  This woman was his best friend’s adopted sister and cousin.  Romantic feelings for a bro’s sibling broke the bro-code.

“M-my apologies.”  Cullen stammered, internally cursing again.  He sat back down at the same time she did.  He noted the grimace and twitched lip processing his apology.

Flissa, the coffee shop waitress, came to their table, responding to the front ringing bell.  “Welcome!”  Cullen tensed.  Her voice was extremely loud, especially in the corner.  “What can I get you?”

The woman bit her lip.  “Maker, I want a cup of coffee, but I will horribly regret it later.”  She glanced down at Cullen’s mug, her nostrils flared as she took a sniff of herbs and spices.  “Lavender tea?”  She asked, pointing at his mug.  Cullen nodded, surprised by her sensitive nose.  “I’ll have what he is having.  My friend Sera told me you sold apple strudel with vanilla ice cream, right?”  The waitress nodded and smiled.  “Awesome.  That too with an extra scoop of ice cream, please.”

“Of course!  Right away!”  Flissa sang, even making his new table mate tense as the woman walked away.

“Ice cream in the middle of winter?”  Cullen commented as he watched the woman remove her coat, set it on her purse, and rested her cane against the bench.  “You might get too cold.”

“Maker, I wish.”  She huffed, finally resting her hands on the table.  Already her finger twitched.  Very nervous.  That makes two of them.  “I always had a sweet tooth and now vanilla ice cream fulfills a specific carving.”

Cullen briefly smiled, teasing,  “A weakness?”

The woman threw him a look.  “An accomplishment.”  She hummed, tilting her head.  Her eyes remain fixed upon his face.

Good job, Rutherford…

Those bright green rifts pulled Cullen in.  They told him everything, and he just angered her.  Somehow.

 

* * *

 

This man convinced Rian to stop taking lyrium?!

Evie mentally rolled her eyes as she reviewed the ex-templar.  She felt the lower lyrium in his veins and knew every sign he was recovering from the addiction.  Rian looked like this three years ago:  wrinkled dark eye sockets, jerky fingers, and sweaty skin.  His wincing when the waitress spoke stated he still suffered from the unrelenting migraines.  He chose the booth farthest from sunlight and dimly lit within the coffee shop.  She personally thanked him because she could only venture outside wearing sunglasses, especially with the newly fallen snow.

The woman knew the signs of lyrium withdrawal.  She witnessed her brother for years combat the ailment.  For a short time, Rian and she related on the pain and aches, but Rian recovered.  Evie got worse.  She learned his triggers and shielded him from the constant questions.  He was open about what he was doing, declaring to other templars that if he could win this war, so could they.  The willpower and encouragement will save their lives.

This Cullen did not get the message.  The same length of time off the poison as Rian and he still seemed like he only stopped a year ago.  The major symptoms were gone like his veins bungling under his skin or fever.  Evie knew the signs because she read every medical journal article the researcher could find.  After her own exposure and detox, she turned her research towards understanding lyrium health risks.  Very few people published the material because the Chantry did not want the public knowing it was poisoning its knights.  The institution feared it will discouraged people from joining the Order. 

During the Mage-Templar War, both sides agreed the Chantry fucked up.  There were no winners under their control.  Scholars could research lyrium poisoning and find ways to make it easier, but the Chantry censored publications and refused to fund research.  So, much of Evie’s knowledge about lyrium withdraw came from observing Rian.  Being Rian’s protection actually help keep Evie from thinking about her own nerve pain. 

Evie bet Cullen had no one assisting him through his detox and aftereffects.  Rian might have been his friend and fellow knight through the initial withdraw, but he must have not gotten the type of care she provided Rian.  What about his family?  Other friends?

Who would _not_ want to help this struggling man?

Maker, he was handsome with his chiseled jaw, exquisite cheekbones, and strong brow.  His body was still muscular with little fat.  His dark red Henley long sleeve thermal with the white collared untucked dress shirt underneath hugged his cut arms and chest.  When, she was removing her coat, Evie glanced under the table at his khaki cargo pants and black leather boots.  His whole outfit was pressed and functional, just like a man who left the Order, but never stopped being a templar.  The ensemble accented every part of a fine knight’s body like an ancient chiseled god.  No wonder Dorian liked him! 

The man must still exercise like a templar despite no longer taking lyrium.  Rian stated he was in charge of security and military actions within the Inquisition.  Every day he still engaged in operations like a templar.  That must not help his psyche.  Rian’s career held many events that scarred his mind.  Every templar experienced horrors in the academies, just like the forced students.  Cullen still engaged in battle even without lyrium to dull the memories.  Kudos and condolences…

Still, the former knight pissed her off.  He apologized when she asked to sit on the bench with patting and he asked if her ice cream sweet tooth was an addiction.  Maker, she will have to explain herself _again_.  Rian kept his mouth shut about her medical problems, but it still angered her she had to explain why she did everything.  No one can read minds, but she hated their looks and apologies.  No one understood.  They never will.

Yet, Evie could not get angry with this attractive man.  Something about his amber eyes and warm husky voice soothed her.  She knew it was not the medication because they took affect over an hour ago.  No, his eyes were warm like honey with flecks of gold around his striking black pupils.  She kept looking away but always returned to absorb more of his watching. 

Evie, you are here to fulfill Rian’s request to talk to someone, not ogle this sexy knight…

Maker’s arsehole.

“It’s an accomplishment like you and Rian stopping lyrium and continuing to exercise.”  Evie continued as she buried her resentment.  “It’s not exactly good for recovery but makes the pain go away for a while.”

Cullen blinked a few times.  Once again, she locked eyes on those beautiful gems.  He seem surprised by her statement.  He hung his head.  “I…sorry, I…had no idea it was connected to…”

Evie waved her left hand, her medical bracelet rattling as she rested her hand on the wooden table again.  “Please, if we are forced to talk about…this stuff, do not apologize.  I _hate_ when people attempt give a damn when they just do not want to look like arseholes.”

Cullen exhaled roughly.  “Maker, I know what you mean.  It is bad enough someone see it happen, but their _mothering_ afterwards so they can walk away thinking them did their good deed today.  I-I mean-” He coughed a few times, hanging his head.  Apparently, they were of like mind on the matter.

Evie grinned.  “I don’t care that they see me.  The Void, my cane gives it away most times.  It’s a constant beacon like a bright green gash across someone’s hand.  I tell them to just get going and move pass it…except I never do personally.” Her voice wandered off into nothing.

Right then, the waitress returned to the table with her tea and dessert.  “Here you go!  You need anything else?  Commander?”

The man waved his hand no before grasping his mug again, staring at its contents like he hoped they would absorb him out of the pending conversation.  Evie shook her head, her attention turning to the steaming apple treat with scoops of vanilla ice cream on either side.  She could not stop herself from giggling.  The headache medicine kept the thumping at bay for the moment.  Yet, tasting the vanilla and sweetness will hopefully deter her carving when the headache returned with a vengeance.

Once the waitress stepped away, Evie took a bite, actually enjoying the silence that fell over the table.  The former knight kept his attention on the mug, but she noted his eyes shifted to her every so often.  The woman thought for a moment.  “It is rude for me to eat something like this in front of you.  Caffiene, sugar, and alcohol makes all the symptoms worse.  Rian still cannot give up his big mug of coffee each morning despite knowing by noon he will be wincing in pain.”  Once again, he just blinked at her, stunned.  Evie assumed his surprise.  “Personal experience on that front.”

“Rian…”  The templar glanced away and sighed, rubbing his neck.

“No, me.”

His amber orbs flashed back to Evie’s face.  “You?  Rian stated you were a…”

“Mage.  Yes.  I just have a strange situation…”

“We don’t have to…talk about…”  His whispered faded away into the restaurant’s low hums.

“Isn’t that why we’re here?”  Evie shrugged and referenced the booth.  “Look, I don’t mind talking about my health.”

“Then why haven’t you spoken to anyone?”

Evie licked a bit of vanilla cream off her lips and set down her spoon.  Her long tongue captured the ex-knights attentive vividly.  “…because…no one believed me and dismissed me.  Now that there are some diagnoses, there is nothing that can be done medically.  Every time I try to explain my conditions, I get these looks of people no believing me, or they feel uncomfortable.  I’ve had people ask if it was contagious like the Blight, the ignorant bastards.”

“Maker…I’m-“

Evie pointed at the man.  “No apologies.”

He smirked.  “Right.”

Evie froze for a moment.  Her bright green eyes stared at the man’s face intently as she finally realized his upper lip was scarred.  It did not surprise her.  Templar led very dangerous and violent lives.  She personally like scars, except if they were all over her body.  Because of her compromised immune system, it took months for a razor scratch to heal on her leg.  No matter how much ointment and cleaning she did, each open wound scarred.  However, this commander’s upper lip scar just made him more handsome and charming.  She folded her hands in her lap to avoid reaching out and touching it. 

Maker, she wanted to caress it.

_Evie!_

 

* * *

 

Cullen wondered if he said something else that offended her.  Her bright green eyes just shimmered as she analyzed his face.  He had not eaten today, so he did not have food on his face or something.  Maybe she waited for him to say something.  However, Cullen could not think of anything, not due to his headaches, but just how her eyes and beautiful face captivated him.

The commander finally cleared his throat and took a sip of tea before he made an ass of himself.  He sat his mug down.  “I promise I will not be judgmental, Evelyn.  I guess I’m trying to understand how someone with the genetic mutation can understand lyrium withdrawal.”  That came out harsher than he meant.  “I-I mean, how you experience similar symptoms…”

The woman grinned and tilted her head.  Her long bangs cupped her cheeks.  She pulled off a pixie haircut in the back and long bangs over her ears and face.  Each moment speaking, the snow dripped off the ends and released its true nature.  “First off, call me Evie.  Only my family and old businessmen who try to get into my pants call me Evelyn.”

Cullen felt his face burn at the declaration.  “I-I’m not-“

That broke Evie into a laugh; forced breaths at first with a beaming smiling.  “I wasn’t saying that.  Two, my genetic mutation both save and hindered my life, and not in the way you think.  I participated with templars removing red lyrium from the Kirkwall Circle.  A red lyrium shard stuck my shoulders, but I did not have a reaction until weeks later.  The Blight inside the stone nearly killed me.”

Cullen caught himself before saying his surprise, thinking saying anything would sound like he did not believe her.  “I was the knight-commander at the time.  I’m surprised I did not hear about the incident.”

Evie waved.  “Probably buried in the mounds of bullshit from the city.  I left afterwards and was in Starkhaven when the fever and vomiting began.  My lyrium tolerance saved me from the poisoning, but the whole situation caused an immune response.  For a time, I suffered from inflammation in the brain.  It left scar tissue on my optical nerve in my left eye while dying both spheres bright green.  They used to be brown…”

“If I may say, they’re beautiful.”  Cullen did not know where his boldness came from, but he did not regret it. 

Evie smiled and blushed, demonstrating she had several freckles across her cheekbones.  “Thank you…one of the only good things that came out of everything.  However, the red lyrium did not cause all my issues.  In hindsight, the aching, pains, and loss of fine motor skills were genetic mutations, just like my lyrium tolerance.  After the exposure, the diseases received names, but they are so rare that there is not a cure and minimal treatments.  Much like lyrium addiction…”

Cullen bit the inside of his cheek.  From the look in her eyes, she waited for him to share his story like she had.  He took the moment to drink more tea.  Evie in turn ate a few more bites of her warming ice cream and Anderfels apple strudel.  “Rian stated you were his rock during his withdraw.al”

“More like question deflector.”  Evie revised, staring out into space.  “I nearly lost my faith during that time.  Between fighting with my own doctors and seeing him suffer, I cursed the Maker, specifically the Chantry.  They poisoned knights for decades with a substance their bodies should never consume.  Once the templars go insane and can no longer serve, they cut them off and let the withdrawal kill them.  It is one thing to have an extremely rare disease.  It’s another for thousands of soldiers with no resources to break their chains.  You hear governments wanting to stop the illegal drug trade, but don’t want to treat the people hooked on said drugs.  It isn’t just a physical illness, but a mental war that keeps the hurt here.  It is easier to drown away the memories than paying for the years of therapy and assistance needed to heal.”

This woman understood his conundrum, not just because her brother suffered from the addiction, but observing their world.  Evie was right.  There was no specialized treatment organizations that could assist with recovering templars and other addicts.  The Inquisition only just researched the long term effects of lyrium on the intolerant body.  Such research remained barred or not funded.  Legal lyrium was given as the cure-all way to suppress pain, but its hooks patients before anyone realized a problem.

“I…mentioned to Rian once…my ultimate goal to open a clinic and rehabilitation center for recovering templars.”  Cullen admitted.  He felt his apprehensions break the longer he sat by this gorgeous woman.  He might not see her pain physically, but her words and experience spoke to him, akin to his own struggle.

Evie finished her ice cream right as he spoke.  She pushed her plate aside and locked eyes with his.  “That’s a wonderful idea.  Yet, you shouldn’t be the person doing it.  It should be the Chantry.”

“True, but someone must start somewhere.  If we wait until the institution did anything, we will be waiting forever.”  Cullen replied before finishing his tea.

“Very true.”  Evie smiled.  “There is little research.  During Rian’s struggle and my own poisoning, I studied every published article I could find.  Most were very old and contained a small sample size.  We know about the Blight and other diseases partly because the public is made aware there is an issue.  Even in my geology studies, if a government or population does not know there is a problem, you seldom see action taken to fix the issue.  By establishing your clinic, you will attract attention, most of it not good in the beginning.  However, it will start a conversation just as simple as two people sitting a coffee shop.  You will need donors.  Many causes get the news out during such fund raising.  People will willfully donate once they hear you and others’ stories.”

Cullen sighed, running his hands through his hair.  “And there is the rub.  I…I don’t like speaking about my military past.  I’ve done…horrific things…”

Evie bit her lip again.  “Everyone has something in their past that wakes them at night.  I know I do.  You though recognize your demons.  You want to atone your mistakes and give back to the world.  You already won half the battle by recognizing you’re not perfect.”

“What about you?”  Cullen asked, finding he knew little about her struggle.  “You stated there is nothing to help you.  Can you do the same as I propose?”

Evie’s face grew long.  Her bright green eyes dulled as she pondered over her own path.  “No…I am probably the only person with a hundred miles who suffers with my conditions.  I will not live as long as others, and I will struggle for the rest of my life, much like you will with your addiction.  The older I get, the worse it will become.  I will feel every bit of it.  The aches and burning will be less painful now versus in five years.  Right now, it’s unbearable.  I lost everything to this, specifically my career and hobbies.”

“I know you probably have heard this, but you must keep fighting, pushing through each day.  I too wonder how I will overcome the headaches and nightmares.  There is nothing to look forward too, really.”

Evie poked his shoulder.  “Tell you what:  let’s be each other force to push forward.  You text or call after a night terror, and I will cry in your ear when cannot even get up to make something to eat.  On the days we feel good, we do something fun.  On the days it is just the worst, we sit on a couch and watch Netflix until our pain medications knock us out.  I know it just met you and all, but I feel I can let you in on what I attempt to hide.”

Cullen gently smiled and nodded.  “I would like that.  On your bad days, I’ll remember the vanilla ice cream.”

“Good, because I just ran out last night.”  Both adults giggled and tapped their hands on the table.  “Look, I have some books at my loft on lyrium effects on the body you might like to review for your future plans.”

“I wasn’t planning to start that for a while.”

“Why not do it now?  You need a goal.”

“What about you?”

“Helping you, Cullen, sounds like one I could get behind.  After all, I’m a Trevelyan and know all the people with money.”

Cullen’s smirk grew the longer they spoke.  He actually looked forward to the project now.  Before, it felt like a burden that his symptoms will never let him begin.  If Evie willing supported him, he felt her could actually work towards his vision and recovery.  “I would like that.”

The waitress came over right then.  “Anything else you all need?”

“Check please.  I’m paying.”  Evie called.

Cullen threw her a look.  “Absolutely not.  You’re not working right now.”

Evie glared at him, poking his nose.  “And I can get this at least.  I will ask if you are coming to my loft to give me a ride.  I’m not driving my jeep with my bad seizures.”

Cullen smiled happily.  “Sure.  That’s not problem.  Are you allergic to mabaris?  My hound’s hair is everywhere in my truck.”

“I love mabaris!  I always wanted one!”

The commander laughed a few times, witnessing Evie handing some cash to Flissa.  “Are you sure you aren’t Fereldan?”

“My mom’s half Fereldan, so somewhat?”

Both adults hobbled towards the coffee shop door.  Cullen reached the glass door first, holding it open as the weak woman passed through.  The ringing bell above his wavy hair no longer made him wince.  He actually felt better now.  Evie slipped her sunglasses on as the sun’s glare besieged the couple. 

Couple.

Cullen could not think like that.  He just met this woman.  She was his best friend’s little sister.  However, in their short exchange, Cullen found someone who understood and shared the same struggles and horrors.  They did not need to explain the causes, the symptoms, or inabilities.  It was in their eyes they sympathized and relate without speaking a word.  Evie was a kindred spirit, lost and alone like he until they met.

“Say, do you mind if I call you Eve?  Evie sounds weird to me somewhat.  I mean- not that your name is strange or…”  Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose.  Oh Maker, he was going to screw this up.

Evie turned enough on her cane to face him.  A gentle swooning smile graced her redden face.  “I…I like that.  No one has ever called me Eve…”  She blushed and lowered her head.  “But, it sounds nice in your husky voice…”  She coughed and looked around.  “I-I love fresh snow.  Its reflections hurt my eyes, but it is so serene and comforting…”

Cullen beamed, taking a deep breath.  Instead of looking at the landscape, his amber eyes focused on the woman beside him.  “Yes, I know what you mean…”


End file.
